Heavenfaced
by Felix Felicius
Summary: A hunt gone wrong, leaves a 16-year-old Sam with some bad news. Sick!Sam
1. Chapter One: The Rawhead

**Sam is 16**

 **Dean is 20**

 **Trailer:** youtu . be / DVKGot6QgNY

 **Playlist:** 8tracks felixfelicius / heavenfaced

* * *

 **Chapter One: The Rawhead**

The lights were down low, as a he slowly swayed side to side, keeping in time with the beat of a love song playing over the loudspeakers. Small lanterns lined the gymnasium, creating a warm, cozy feeling. He sighed as he felt the soft breath of his current dance partner on his neck.

Her name was Cassidy. He had spent a week working up the courage to ask her out to the homecoming dance. She fit perfectly against his body. It was a moment he wanted to last forever.

"I love you Sam," she whispered in his ear.

He blushed, but didn't hesitate to return her affection.

"I love you too," he said softly.

All too soon the tender moment came to an end with a blow to the head. For a moment he was seeing stars. But with a quick shake of his head, he was back in the game.

Sam took in a deep breath as he regained his footing. His disappointing realty came crashing down on him. He wasn't at the homecoming dance like he had planned. There was no declaration of love to bask in, and no warm body to find comfort in. Instead he was running around a dank, dark basement of an abandoned warehouse.

Not exactly the time for a daydream, especially since he was acting as the bait.

"Come on dad," he muttered. "Where the hell are you?"

Naturally no one was there to reply. He was on his own. In the faint moonlight shining in from a small dirty window, Sam could see the angry rawhead he was supposed to be taking care of; And by taking care of, he meant killing. The beast before him looked human enough, save for its scraggly, stringy hair, and pale leathery skin. It also had a less than pleasant odor about it. As the creature let out an angry snarl, Sam brandished his taser and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.

Sam groaned in irritation.

Hoping the rawhead would follow him, he dashed around the creature and made for the stairs. He needed to get to less claustrophobic place, so he could change the cartridge of his taser.

He leapt onto the stairs taking more than one at a time, almost tripping. He reached out blindly grasping for a door handle. Once he found it, he wrenched the door open with so much force that it slammed into the wall and ricocheted itself closed. With an angry yell, the beast within simply tore through the door. The snapping of the wood as the monster broke through echoed in the darkness.

Sam was now in the main part of the warehouse. From what he could tell, the warehouse consisted of one big empty space at the center with various pillars to support the structure, surrounded by smaller rooms. Some, like the one he was just in, went down into the ground, while others, presumably went higher up.

Sam reached into his back packet and groaned. The cartridge he had stashed there, was smashed. He'd thought it was a bad idea putting it there in the first place, but he'd had nowhere else to put it. Lucky for him, he'd thought to bring a backup to his backup. But before he could grab it from his other pocket, the monster was free from the door and on the move.

If it wasn't so dark, Sam knew he would be able to see his breath in the air. It was the beginning of November in Boise. It had yet to snow, but the temperature was in the 40's and his flimsy jacket wasn't doing much to stave off the cold.

The monster honed in on his location with deadly accuracy and Sam found himself in its grasp in no time. The rawhead pinned Sam's arms to his side, so he kicking out with all his might. He must have hit a sensitive spot, cause the next thing he knew he was hitting the cold hard concrete.

Sam quickly pushed himself up and launched himself away from where he presumed the rawhead was. He didn't very far before he found himself he acquainted with a pillar. The impact caused him to not only see stars, but also caused him to lose grasp of his taser. This was turning into a horrible comedy of errors.

Just as he bent done to find the taser, the monster punched the air where Sam's head had been. Sam ducked into a roll, brushing against what had to be the taser. Stopping his momentum, Sam grabbed the taser, only to nearly drop it again as the rawhead grabbed a hold of his leg and started dragging him along.

Where was his family? He wasn't supposed to take this thing on by himself. That wasn't the plan.

Sam reached out with one hand to grab anything that could stop his movement, but his hand slipped uselessly on the smooth concrete. The sound of splitting wood told Sam where he was being dragged to and the feeling of what remained of a destroyed door confirmed it.

The sharp remains of the door tore into his skin causing him to cry out. He tried holding onto what was left of the door, but it simply broke off.

Feeling very much like a rag doll, Sam felt himself go flying through the air. There was nothing he could do to stop himself from crashing into a wall. The impact had him tasting the coppery tang of blood.

As he slid down the wall he could only wonder whether his last taser cartridge was still intact. Throughout the attack Sam had managed to hold onto his taser with an intense death grip.

For some reason the rawhead didn't continue its offense. Maybe he thought Sam was beyond struggling now. Whatever it was Sam didn't hesitate. He forced the empty cartridge from the taser and replaced it with the miraculously intact backup.

In front of him, he could hear heavy breathing getting closer. He took aim and pulled the trigger. Within seconds the monster was brought to the ground in a mess of angry pain filled roars. Sam tasered the rawhead again just to be sure and waited a couple minutes until the moaning died down.

All was quiet.

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. The job wasn't done quite yet. He flicked it on and observed the flame for a few seconds before throwing it where he assumed the rawhead laid. The flame hit its target. Sam leaned against the wall with a sigh and watched flames consume the rawhead.

Now he had to figure out where his family was.

Sam stood up with great effort. It seemed he had adrenaline to thank for keeping him sharp during the fight. Now it was quickly fading and he was feeling the effects of being a rawhead's punching bag. His ribs felt sore, and his back ached. He supposed the wall had to do with that. A pounding headache was building behind his eyes. That was probably due to the blow to the head. Sam spit out a mouthful of blood. He must have bitten his tongue somewhere along the line.

Sam took a step, and nearly ended up on the ground again. With a sigh he realized he must have a sprained ankle. And on top of that, he could feel the blood slowly oozing out of the cuts cause by the splinters of the broken door. He imagined he must look a mess.

He limped over to the stairs. It was slow going. An eternity later he made it up the stairs and out into the open warehouse. He'd gained a few more cuts, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his body from the effort.

He limped forward in the warehouse. He and his family had started this hunt together. They had split up to find the rawhead. His dad had said to shout out when they found it. Sam had done just that, but no one had come to his aid. Something must have happened to them.

That. Or this was some test of his hunting ability. It wasn't something he would be surprised at. It had happened before, but never at this level. Perhaps he should be flattered his dad thought he could handle this?

Nah. Sam had his work cut out for him now. If he looked half as bad as he felt, It would be hard to explain to his teachers without getting cps involved. Sam clenched his fist. That would probably mean they would be packing up and leaving... again.

Up ahead he saw a a hallway that seemed to have a faint glow about it. As he got closer he saw the glow came from the light of moonlight filtering through a few small windows. A muffled sound greeted his ears coming from the other end. It was the sound of someone hitting a wall.

Sam rushed forward. Well, as much as he could with his bum ankle.

There was another Bend in the hallway. After hearing another bump in the darkness, he quickly turned and ran. Brushing his hands against the wall he felt for door handles and pushed open any doors that he found. Finding nothing he called out Dean's name, but got nothing back.

He reached the end of the hallway. There was only one more door to check. Sam pulled out his taser, pointed it in front of him and pushed open the door. There was a staircase leading down into the depths of another basement. A windows lined the top of the room, letting in the pale moonlight. Three young children huddled around the bottom of the stairs. They were frozen in fear at the sight before them.

He had wondered where the children were.

A second rawhead was playing punching bag with his family. Dean was the only one left standing. Sam could see his father on the floor leaning against a wall, obviously out of it.

Sam quietly went down the stairs and rounded up the kids. He told them to wait in the hallway. He had to give them a push before they did as they were told. They didn't look to be in too bad shape, which Sam was grateful for. This job was also about saving people, not just killing things. Sam gripped his taser as he exchanged covert glances with Dean.

Before he could use the advantage of surprise, he accidentally kicked at something on the ground causing a noticeable clang that gained the attention of the raw head.

Sam grit his teeth in frustration. This really wasn't his day.

This rawhead moved even faster than the one he had taken down. Before he knew it, the rawhead had its hands on his neck and had forced him into a wall. The adrenaline was back. Sam kicked out, and was freed in an instant. He had obviously hit a sensitive spot.

Dean chose that moment to attack, showing a flurry of punches on the creature.

Sam wondered why he wasn't using his taser. Then he caught sight of the thing he had kicked earlier. Dean didn't have it. Crap.

"Sam! Shoot it!"

Sam panicked. The rawhead currently had Dean in its grasp.

"Shoot it Sam!" Dean struggled to say.

If Sam fired the taser, he would not only hit the rawhead, but his brother as well. He was not willing to do that. He had to get them apart.

Sam reached into his back pocket and pulled out the useless cartridge. He then chucked it at the monster, hitting it on the back, effectively getting its attention. It rushed him, taking him off guard. Sam had underestimated its speed and the smallness of the room.

A punch to the head, sent Sam straight to the ground, his chin hitting the concrete hard. Sam rolled onto his back with a groan. The rawhead towered above him.

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and the monster was on top of him, its heavy weight suffocating him, all while his nerves were set on fire, electricity hitting both the rawhead, and him. It was the same situation he had wanted to avoid with Dean.

Well at least he had succeed at that. This hurt like hell, and he was glad Dean wasn't feeling this.

That was his last thought before he knew no more.


	2. Chapter Two: Leaving Boise

**Chapter Two: Leaving Boise**

Sam's return to consciousness was slow and painful. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his brain was working in slow motion. It took him an eternity to figure out that the reason it was so dark was because his eyes were closed.

Opening his eyes only made him aware of just how much pain he was in. The bright white light seared through his eyes. And when he instinctively tried to raise his hand to block out the light, he found it sluggish and slow to respond to his commands.

Squinting his eyes to help block out the light, Sam tried to sit up so he could get a look around him. But he didn't get very far as the strain on his neck left him in agony.

He vaguely noticed a beeping sound getting faster. Sam had to think for a moment before realizing it must be a heart monitor.

"Sammy!"

Dean was suddenly hovering over him.

"Calm down!" Dean said urgently. "You're in the hospital. Everything is going to be okay."

Sam blinked at his brother, the wheels slowly turning in his head.

"Dad?" Sam said.

His throat felt like sandpaper and saying the one word sent him into a painful coughing fit.

"Here," Dean said holding something to Sam's mouth.

It was an ice chip and it felt heavenly going down his throat.

"Dad's okay," Dean assured. "He's just getting some coffee."

Sam sighed in relief. His brain was still foggy, but the last thing he could remember about his dad, was seeing him passed on the ground.

"How long have I?" He rasped out, unable to finish his sentence.

Dean fed him another ice chip before responding.

"Longest two days ever," he said not looking Sam in the eyes. "But everything's going to fine now."

Sam frowned. It sounded like Dean was trying to convince himself that was true, more than trying to reassure his brother. He knew something more must have happened while he was out of it. But he was too tired to get to the bottom of just what that was right now.

Try as he might, his eyes seemed to have a mind of their own as they closed and he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Sam woke next, he was greeted with the sight of a nurse in blue scrubs. She was rubbing something on his leg. Whatever it was, it stung. He figured that must have been what woke him.

The nurse looked up, noticing he was awake.

"Hey there," she said with a soft smile. "I'm just changing your bandages."

The nurse was an older Hispanic looking woman. The soft lines on her face told Sam she smiled a lot. Her graying hair was pulled back into bun.

"Where's my brother?" Sam asked. His voice wasn't as rough, but his throat still bothered him.

The nurse shook her head as she worked.

"I told him to take a walk."

Sam was amazed.

"It wasn't easy, let me tell you. That brother of yours is one determined man."

That brought a small smile to his face. Sam heard the door open, and turned his to see who it was, straining his neck. But no one came around the curtain. He heard a woman's voice greet someone. He obviously wasn't the only patient in the room.

"Now we've gotta get you sitting," the nurse said, patting his leg. She walked to the head of his bed and pushed a button. Sam felt himself rising up. But the bed only went so far.

"Up you go," the nurse prompted.

This time Sam's hands responded to his commands. But the effort was filled with pain. Every breath he took caused an ache in his ribs. And his skin on his back was painfully tight.

Sam felt cool air hit his exposed skin as the nurse removed the hospital gown from his back. It was a nice feeling. But it didn't last long as the nurse started working. Sam knew she wasn't trying to hurt him on purpose, but by the time she was finished he couldn't help but feel a strong dislike for her.

Sam heard the door open, and realized his roommate's visitor had left.

"All done," the nurse said.

Sam was so exhausted from the pain that if the nurse hadn't slowly laid him back down on the bed, he would've fallen backwards too fast, probably jarring his already sore back.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, causing his ribs to protest.

"You did good Sam," the nurse said. "Now I just need to get some blood, and I'll be out of your hair."

Sam opened his eyes and nodded. The prick of the needle caused him to flinch, but only because he was watching as the needle pierced his skin. It didn't really hurt all that much.

"I'll be back in the morning," the nurse said. "Get some sleep."

As soon as she left, Sam became hyper aware of the beeping sounds coming from his machine. Where was Dean?

Suddenly, a voice called out.

"Sam, is it?"

It was the other occupant of the room.

"You still awake?"

The voice sounded like it belonged to someone his age.

Sam shifted in his bed, trying to get more comfortable. The bed creaked as his shifted, giving him away.

"Ha! I know you're there," the voice said. "My name's David."

Sam stayed silent. All he wanted was his family, not this stranger.

"Whatever's wrong with you can't be that bad. Doc says you're getting better."

Sam frowned.

"How do you know?" He asked suspiciously.

"I have ears genius," the voice known as David said. "When you're here as often as me, you learn to listen."

That got Sam's attention.

"How often?" He asked, "Are you here that is?"

The other boy seemed to think for a moment.

"Since I was 14 and a half, so about three years now."

Before Sam could ask why, David answered his unspoken question.

"I don't have hair, but I do have cancer."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"That's a strange way to put it."

Sam heard him laugh.

"Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon Sam?" David asked, his voiced taking on a wistful tone.

Sam glanced at the curtain between them. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going. He glanced back at the ceiling.

"No," he replied, "Never seemed to have the time."

He didn't say how it was his father who didn't have time. They'd driven through Arizona few times. Each time Dean had said he eally wanted to see the Grand Canyon. But their dad said there was no point in seeing what he called a giant hole in the ground.

"I'm gonna go see it someday, you know, when I get out of here," David said. "It's amazing what Mother Nature can do when given all the time in the world."

A moment passed… then the other teen snorted.

"That sounded ridiculously deep," he said. "Truth is, I really just want to see a big hole in the ground, I mean where else will you find a bigger one?"

Sam smiled to himself. He appreciated the irony in the fact that this guy's reason for wanting to go to the Grand Canyon, was his father's reason for not going.

Then the conversation took another sudden turn.

"Sometimes I can't remember what it's like to not be sick"

Sam awkwardly stayed silent. He liked to think he was more in touch with his emotions, at least compared to Dean, but this was light years away from what he could handle. Empathy could only go so far when you had absolutely no clue what someone had been through.

The silence stretched on for another minute.

"You know, most people would have said something reassuring right there," David said. "Like… it'll get better or it can't be that bad."

Now Sam felt awful.

"I'm sorry,' he said quietly.

"No!" David said strongly. "I like that you didn't say anything."

Sam waited for him to explain.

"My doctor's always telling me stuff like that, but the more she says it, the less I believe it."

Sam could relate to that. Dean was always telling him that their nomadic life would get better, that maybe this would be their last hunt, and that it wasn't so bad.

His platitudes had only worked for so long.

"I used to be optimistic." David said.

He lapsed into a silence that lasted several minutes. Sam figured he had fallen asleep.

"You have a good family Sam," he said suddenly. "And you'll be out of here in no time. I'm glad they won't have to suffer like mine."

Sam wanted to ask what he meant, but before he worked up the courage to ask, he could hear soft snoring coming from the other side of the curtain.

* * *

When Sam next opened his eyes, it was to find Dean and a doctor standing at the foot of his bed.

When had they gotten here? Did he fall asleep?

They were too busy talking to notice he was awake, so Sam stayed quiet and listened.

"I really think he should stay here a few more days for observation," the doctor said, sounding like he was reaching the end of his patience. "You don't play with head injuries, and his heart-"

Dean cut him off.

"Fine," he said, his voice steely. "We'll stay."

 _Like that was happening._ Sam knew that tone of voice. Dean was lying through his teeth.

The doctor made a note on his clipboard.

"I'm glad you understand the severity of this situation."

Huh? Just how severe was his condition? He didn't exactly feel 100 percent, but he didn't feel like he was dying.

Suddenly alarms went off, and machines started wailing. Dean and the doctor immediately looked at him.

Sam ignored their worried gazes and looked at the curtain that separated him from his roommate.

Within seconds an influx of people filled the room. There was shouting and lots of medical terms he couldn't understand, but none of which could be good.

Just as quickly as they had come, the doctors and nurse were gone, presumably taking his roommate with them. Now the only sound in the room was his own heart monitor.

Dean looked a little shell shocked lost his own world. He had yet to move from the foot of Sam's bed. Sam watched him, trying to figure just what his brother was thinking.

A ringing noise interrupted the silence. It was Dean's phone. He answered it and after a quick reply put it back in his pocket.

"I'll be back in a moment," Dean said, looking distracted.

When his brother returned, he wasn't alone. A young nurse was pushing a wheelchair.

"I think a little walk around the hospital will do him a world of good," Dean said sounding overly cheerful in Sam's opinion.

The woman smiled and nodded obviously taken in by his brother's charm. Sam almost felt sorry for the nurse… almost.

"A little fresh air never hurt anyone," she said as she worked to disconnect Sam from all the machines around his bed.

Soon Sam was sitting in the wheelchair. Dean had practically carried him from the bed to the chair. It was mortifying. But he couldn't argue against it with a cast on his foot. He hadn't noticed it before. When he asked about it, Dean gruffly told him he had broken his ankle.

That sucked. It looked like crutches would be his best friend for the foreseeable future.

Soon it was just him and Dean walking down the hallway. He hated to admit it, but he was fast reaching the limits of what stamina he had left. His eyelids felt heavy. And before he knew it he was drifting in and out, struggling not to fall asleep.

"Almost there Sammy, then you can sleep however long you want to."

Sam didn't have to ask what Dean what he was talking about. He was soon sitting in the back of the impala with his head in Dean's lap and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

The sound of the Impala's engines running through the night, had him drifting off to sleep in no time.


	3. Chapter Three: Bad News

**Chapter Two: Bad News**

By the time Sam was coherent and conscious again, they had traveled more than 18 hours from Boise, to Bobby's house in South Dakota. Sam remembered waking up once or twice to take some medication, but other than that, he had basically slept the drive away.

After another humiliating experience of being carried, he found himself transported from the Impala to Bobby's living room. Dean laid him down on a couch and soon Bobby had him covered in a warm blanket.

"You look horrible kid," Bobby said, "and I bet you feel it too."

Sam sighed.

"Story of my life," he muttered.

"I have some chicken noodle soup on the stove."

"Thanks Bobby," Sam said.

He could only watch as his dad and Dean brought their stuff in from the impala. He felt much better than he did when he first woke, but his recovery was still a work in progress. The fact that he had slept practically the whole drive here made him feel weak.

Soon, just as Bobby promised, there was a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of him. He hadn't eaten much more than jello at the hospital. But then again, he hadn't spent that much time awake there. Still, The soup was definitely an upgrade.

"I got some pizza in the oven," Bobby shouted from the kitchen.

Dean was there in an instant, claiming rather loudly he was starving. After a few minutes, he came and sat in the couch across from Sam.

From his view in the living room, Sam could see his dad and Bobby sitting at the table, talking in hushed tones. They obviously didn't want to be overheard.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said taking Sam's attention away from the kitchen. "You gonna eat that? Or are you just gonna stare?"

Sam smirked.

"You just wanna take my food when I'm not looking."

He took a bite and signed in happiness. This wasn't the canned stuff he had practically grown up with. This was homemade and hearty.

"As good as Bobby's soup may be, this pizza is to die for."

He emphasized his point by biting off more pizza than he could fit in his mouth.

"Aw gross Dean!" Sam exclaimed, pointedly looking away. He looked at the kitchen. Bobby had brought out the whiskey.

"Besides," Dean continued, now done chewing, "That soup will help you more than me. I'm not the scrawny one laid up on a couch right now."

Dean took another overly large bite of his pizza.

"You're disgusting Dean," Sam said.

The two enjoyed at least a half an hour of lighthearted banter before their dad came over and told them to call it a night.

"Spoilsport," Dean muttered.

But their dad was in no mood to play along.

"Dean, you can sleep upstairs," John said.

As Sam expected, Dean quickly protested.

"I can stay here and watch Sammy," Dean said. "We'll be fine."

Sam watched his father sigh. He looked tired and worn out.

"I got this Dean."

Not liking where this was going Sam spoke up.

"Really it's fine if Dean-"

"Upstairs. Now," John said with finality.

Sam watched as Dean glanced at him, then their father.

"Yes sir," he said. Then he grudgingly left the room.

Sam looked at his lap, then peeked up at his dad. He was doing the same.

"What happened back there in Boise Sam?" He asked.

Sam was confused and it showed on his face.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

John rubbed his hands together.

"All your injuries," he said shaking his head, "From what Dean told me, that rawhead didn't do it. I had a hell of a time trying to keep CPS off our backs."

Sam frowned.

"There was a second rawhead dad," Sam answered.

A panicked look came across his dad's face.

"Don't worry," Sam said, "I took care of it."

John shook his head.

"That's not it Sam," he said, sounding sad. "You shouldn't have had to do that."

Sam looked at his lap.

"You couldn't have known."

An awkward silence lapsed between them.

"Dean was out of his mind the whole time," John said. "He hardly slept."

Sam could feel his father's eyes boring into him.

"Your heart stopped in the E.R. Sam. They were doing CPR on you as they wheeled you away. There was nothing we could do."

Sam felt his eyes start to water. He knew his dad wasn't blaming him. It was just hard to hear the man speak so openly about how he felt. That almost never happened. It seemed only near death experiences brought out his father's softer side.

Sam looked up and watched as his dad tiredly rubbed his face. He'd never seen the man look so vulnerable and he didn't like it.

"How long will we stay here?" Sam asked.

His dad shrugged.

"We'll stay until you're mobile again."

"Then what?" Sam pressed.

"Just focus on getting better Sam," he said in a tone that said the conversation was over.

Sam sighed, but let the matter go.

"Get some sleep," John said leaning over to the side table, switching off the lamp.

Now it was completely dark. Sam realized Bobby must have gone to bed during their conversation.

Sam stretched out on the couch and pulled his blanket up to his chin. The melancholy atmosphere that had settled in the room had yet to dissipate.

"I'm sorry dad,' he said quietly.

He wasn't sure why he was apologizing, but for some reason, he felt like he had done something wrong, like he had failed his family.

All was quiet, so quiet Sam figured his dad must have fallen asleep, then…

"Don't be," he said, his voice a whisper. "We should have been there for you."

The words only made Sam feel worse. There was nothing he could come up with to reply to that. He laid in the darkness wishing he could have been stronger and faster at taking that rawhead down. Them maybe he wouldn't be the one bringing his family down right now.

Just as he was about to drift off to sleep he heard words he hadn't heard in years.

"I'm proud of you Sammy, never forget that."

* * *

The next morning, John was nowhere to be seen. Instead Sam woke to see Dean staring at him from across the couch. He had a contemplative look on his face. But as soon as he realized Sam was awake, it was gone.

"About time sleeping beauty," Dean said, leaning back on the couch and putting his feet on the coffee table between them.

Sam pushed himself up so that he was sitting.

"It's already lunchtime" Dean said crossing his arms across his chest.

Sam frowned. Had he really slept that long?

"You better eat up," Dean said, nodding his head toward a sandwich that was set on the coffee table in front of Sam. Next to it were two pills and a glass of water.

Seeing where Sam eyes had gone, Dean explained.

"Those are antibiotics genius, so those scratches of yours don't get infected. Speaking of which, we'll have to change those bandages after you're done eating, so get going."

Sam's mood was deteriorating fast.

"Why the rush," he asked sarcastically. "Got a hot date or something?"

Dean only shrugged.

"I wish," he said with a smirk.

Sam rolled his eyes and reached for the sandwich, only to hiss in pain as the tight skin on his back pulled at the newly formed scabs. He gave up on reaching the plate and leaned back into the couch.

With an angry sigh, Sam glared at Dean. He wasn't exactly angry at his brother. But he was feeling frustrated and annoyed, and Dean was right there in front of him. His glare quickly fizzled out when he saw how worried Dean looked. He was sitting up taller, and his feet were back on the floor. Sam could tell Dean was trying to look cool, now that he could see Sam wasn't in pain anymore, but Sam knew. He always knew. He remembered his dad's words the previous night.

 _"Dean was out of his mind the whole time."_

 _"He hardly slept."_

"Here," Dean said standing up.

He grabbed the plate and set it in Sam's lap. Normally he would have thrown a fit and told Dean to mind his own business. But not this time.

"Thanks Dean," he acknowledged quietly.

His brother nodded in his direction, but didn't say anything. He picked up a car magazine off the coffee table and started to flip through the pages, glancing at Sam occasionally.

Sam pretended like he did notice as he quietly ate his sandwich, all the while think about just how much he hated his current situation.

* * *

Sam groggily opened his eyes as he was woken from his nap by an annoying ringing sound.

As he sat up, he realized it was Dean's phone. His brother was no longer in the room. Sam figured he'd gone outside to work on one of Bobby's many cars. It was a bit odd for his brother to forget to grab his phone though. It wasn't exactly a cheap piece of technology. If not for what they did as a family, Dean would never have had one.

Remembering what happened when he reached for the plate just hours before, Sam carefully grabbed the phone off the edge of the coffee table and looked at who was calling. But Before he could even think about answering, the phone stopped ringing.

Sam waited for a moment, and soon enough the phone vibrated to show there was a message. He went to put the phone down. But his curiosity got the best of him. The phone usually only rang when they were on a hunt. So the call must be important.

Sam dialed the voicemail and waited for the message to play out.

"Mr. Winchester, this is Doctor Richards from St. Luke's Regional Medical Center."

Sam frowned, since when did Dean leave behind a trail like this? They usually used false names and put down Bobby's number if they absolutely needed to.

"I won't pretend to understand why you left so suddenly, but we need to talk. I just got your brother's blood tests back and I would like to run some more tests. It could be nothing, a false positive if you will. But I just want to be sure. Please call me at your earliest convenience."

Sam didn't know what to think. He slowly brought the phone away from his ear and down to his lap. He stared down at it unsure of what he should do next. In the movies these sorts of calls always led to some dire diagnosis, lots of tears, and way too much drama.

But what if this was nothing?

The more he thought about it, the more he started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. In a perfect world, he and Dean and dad would go right back to that hospital and talk it out with the doctor, take those extra tests and find out the diagnosis like any rational person would.

But they had left in the night. And as his dad told him the night before, CPS had been asking too many questions. They'd raised to many red flags to be able to come back without facing some tough questions.

Sam stared at the phone even harder, as if it had the answers to the questions in his mind.

The sound of the front door opening jolted Sam from his thoughts. He put the phone under his leg and turned to see who it was.

"The narcoleptic wonder has woken," Dean said, sounding much more upbeat than before.

He walked down the hall. Sam figured he needed a bathroom break.

Sam grabbed the magazine Dean had been reading earlier from the coffee table and a pen from the lamp stand. He played the massage again and copied down the doctor's number. Then he deleted all traces of the message and the number that had called. He laid the phone back on the coffee table just as Dean walked back into the room.

His brother was carrying a backpack.

"Here," he said dropping it on the couch next to Sam. "Something to keep you from going sir crazy... that Is... when you're awake enough to drive yourself nuts."

Sam smiled, and opened the backpack, happy to see all his school books just as he had left them.

"Only you Sam, would be happy as a clam to see homework," Dean said rolling his eyes. He turned back toward the door.

Sam was happy to note Dean's smile had been sincere, and the worry from earlier was nowhere to be seen.

As soon as he was alone again, his thoughts turned back to the phone and the doctor who had left the message. He still wasn't sure what he was going to do, but at least now he had some time to think it through. He thought of his brother's smile and how it would be gone in a flash if he knew about the message.

He didn't want that to happen.

He could handle this on his own.

 _Right?_


	4. Chapter Four: Confirmation

**Chapter Four: Confirmation**

The next few days were rather uneventful. Sam read his school books as his body slowly continued to heal. Dean tinkered with Bobby's junkers and their dad... well he was off checking out leads for nearby hunts. Sam only saw the man at night when he came home after a long day, looking tired, and unsatisfied. He would ask Sam how he was feeling, then shuffle off to bed.

Nearly a week after they left Boise, his dad showed up at lunch time, with a glint in his eye that told Sam he had found a hunt. Apparently, there was a black dog slowly picking off campers in a remote area of a State Park, two states away.

In his rush to leave, John had no time to tell Sam any further details. With a quick goodbye and an admonishment to stay out of trouble, his dad was gone.

Dean had been angry at the turn of events. Sam had heard them exchanging harsh words in the kitchen before their dad had left. If Sam was mobile, he would have rushed in there and added in his own two words. But all he could do was sit on the couch and let Dean argue his case.

He'd be lying if he said that his dad's departure didn't hurt him. It was times like this when he felt like a useless burden on his father, holding him back from his true passion life: hunting. Truth be told, sometimes he resented his father for loving the hunt and the lives he saved, more than his own children. But he supposed the man had to love them in his own way, or he wouldn't have drug them around the country like he had. Surely it would've been easier to abandon them someplace and never return. The thought was only a small consolation.

Dean had ended his argument by storming out the front door and slamming it shut behind him. Sam hadn't seen him since.

In the aftermath of his father's departure, Bobby came into the living room with a plate full of sandwiches and sat down on the couch across from Sam.

"You okay Sam?" He asked.

"Does it matter?" Sam answered with a sad smile.

Bobby shook his head.

"Of course it does you idjit."

Sam grabbed a sandwich and held it in his lap.

"Did he say when he would be back?"

Bobby shrugged.

"A week? Maybe two," he answered.

Sam sighed. He took a bite of his sandwich. It tasted like sand in his mouth.

"I got a doctor buddy I know from the hospital in town, owes me a favor."

Sam raised his head.

"I asked him to come around tonight to check on you. You know, make sure you're healing right."

Sam nodded, then looked at his lap.

"I'll be right back," said standing up and leaving the room.

When he returned, he was carrying a large dusty looking book.

"I just got this last week," he said sitting down next to Sam. "It's filled with all sorts of stuff about demons. Maybe it might help your dad?"

Bobby knew just how to cheer him up. Sam sat up taller and dived right into a lively discussion of the book's contents.

The hours quickly passed by and soon enough there was a knock at the door. Bobby answered the door and led another man into the living room.

The doctor looked like he had come straight from the hospital. He was wearing black slacks and a white button up shirt. His dark hair was cut short and neat. He was rather lean and tall and had a severe look on his face.

He stepped closer to Sam.

"You must be my patient," he stuck out his hand, then smiled kindly.

Sam shook his hand, relieved to see the man smile.

"Your brother is something else," he said. "It was like the Spanish inquisition only with Holy water and silver."

"You know about…" Sam trailed off.

The doctor smirked.

"You don't become friends with Bobby Singer and not find out about those things."

He smiled at Bobby, who was hovering in the background.

Sam shrugged.

"You can call me Ted by the way."

"Sam."

The doctor went over to the other couch and set his bag down. Then he got down to business.

Sam waited until Bobby disappeared into the kitchen to bring up the message left by the doctor from Boise.

"That's never a good thing," Ted said. "I would never say anything, unless there was absolutely something there to worry about."

He sighed and looked at Sam apologetically.

"That's probably not something you want to hear," he went over to his bag and grabbed a few supplies. "I'll take a blood test, and we'll figure this out."

As he worked, Sam kept glancing at the kitchen.

"All done."

Ted put away his supplies, then sat down on the couch across from Sam. He glanced at the kitchen then straight at Sam.

"Would I be wrong to assume that Bobby doesn't know about what that doctor said to you?"

Sam's eyes went wide, then he shook his head.

"How about your family?"

"No," Sam answered staring at his lap, his voice barely a whisper.

A sad look came across the doctor's face.

"This isn't something you should handle on your own."

Sam looked up.

"I know," he replied. "But right now there's nothing to tell."

Ted sighed and shook his head in disapproval.

"How long until…"

Ted didn't need to ask Sam what he meant.

"Could be a few days, or a week," he replied. "I'll call as soon as I have something to say."

Sam was quick to speak up.

"Don't tell him," he said. "Please."

The doctor looked troubled, but he didn't argue the point.

Sam heard the front door open. His brother walked into the living room, a cocky grin on his face.

"So how's my brother doc? Is he ready for 5k yet?"

Ted raised an eyebrow, obviously not ready to joke around after having such serious discussion.

"He still has a ways go, but he's on track."

By this time Bobby had joined them all in the living room.

"I'll see you out Ted," Bobby said.

The doctor nodded at Sam.

"Until next time."

Sam watch as Bobby led the doctor outside.

Dean took a seat across from Sam.

"This is what you get for being such an overachiever," he said, putting his hands behind his head as he leaned back into the couch. "I mean, taking on a rawhead all on your own," he whistled. "I'm impressed."

Sam frowned.

"It's not like I had any choice."

Dean chuckled.

"I'm not saying you did."

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the demon book he'd been reading earlier with Bobby.

"It's just that … You've always said you could take care of yourself," a serious look came across Dean's face. "But either I or dad have always been there to make sure you're okay."

He paused, then continued.

"This time I wasn't there," he said, sounding defeated "You had to come and save ME."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Again, not like I had a choice," Sam said. He didn't like seeing Dean like this. "And what was I supposed to do, just stand there and watch?"

His brother sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"But you died," Dean said.

"I came back," Sam said raising his eyebrows to emphasize his point. He refused to think about what the test results might bring. "Life goes on."

Dean was silent for a moment, leading Sam to believe their depressing conversation was finally over. But it only got worse.

"I don't know what I'd do without you around."

Sam shook his head in denial.

"You'd be just fine," he said quickly. "You'd get drunk, spend the night with a pretty girl, and go kill some fugly monster."

A flash of anger lit up his brother's eyes.

"Do you really think you mean so little to me?" Dean asked. "I've been taking care of you my whole life. Without you…" he trailed off, then continued, "I'd be nothing."

Sam frowned.

"You can't mean that," he said.

Dean stood up and shrugged sadly.

"Whether you like it or not, I mean every word."

He quickly walked away before Sam could say anything more.

* * *

The day of the big reveal came all too quickly. What made it worse, Dean wouldn't be there with him. Their father had called on him for backup. And he set off before the sun even began to rise. For all his brother knew, there was nothing to worry about. Sam was merely getting an x-ray on his foot. Sam would live no matter the outcome as far as Dean was concerned. And he was in good hands with Bobby.

Sam briefly considered telling him about the blood test and what the doctor from Boise had said, but he couldn't bring himself to lay that on his brother right before a hunt. Such a big bombshell would distract his brother and put him at risk of getting hurt. So Sam kept it to himself, gave his brother a hug, and watched him walk out the front door.

The drive to the hospital was filled with awkward attempts at conversation by Bobby.

"Ted seemed really insistent that your daddy and your brother be here today," Bobby said.

Sam shrugged not wanting to think about the reasons why the doctor might feel that way.

Ted was waiting for them when they finally reached the hospital. Sam hated being carted around in a wheelchair, but it came with the territory.

The x-ray went well with Ted telling him his ankle was healing just fine and that he could start moving around with crutches now. He still had to keep his weight off the foot for a few more weeks though. And he would be limping around for a few months after that. Basically, he wouldn't be running any marathons any time soon.

That also meant he would be useless on the hunt. And while he didn't exactly enjoy hunting, he didn't want to his family risking their lives while he could only sit back and watch. It didn't seem very fair.

"I'll go get Bobby now," Ted said, his demeanor taking on a more serious tone.

Sam's breath caught in his throat.

"Wait," he said quickly. "What about the test results?"

Ted frowned.

"That's why I need to get Bobby."

The way the doctor said it made Sam's heart plummet.

"Is it bad?" He asked.

The doctor sighed.

"Just let me get Bobby and we can talk about this," he insisted. "I really wish the rest of your family was here right now."

Sam shook his head.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me right now, right here," he said trying to sound stronger than he felt.

A knowing look came across Ted's face.

"You still haven't told them have you?" He said.

Sam shrugged.

"There's nothing to tell them... right?" He said.

The doctor looked down.

"I'm afraid not Sam."

Sam bit his lip and stared at his hands.

"You can't tell Bobby," Sam said. "I can't tell him, before I tell my family."

Sam was grasping at straws, trying to find a way to postponed dealing with the bad news.

"Well seeing as they're not here..." Ted trailed off.

A light bulb went off in his head.

"You can't tell Bobby without my permission," Sam said. "He's not my guardian, and he's not related."

Ted tilted his head.

"I could ask him for your father's phone number," he said raising an eyebrow.

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Well it must not be bad then, if you're willing to explain this over the phone."

The doctor raised his hands.

"Touché," he said, giving in.

He grabbed his clipboard from the counter and flipped a few pages.

"To put it plainly Sam, you have cancer," Ted said, "Specifically cancer of the blood. Normally I would take a bone marrow sample to further study, but in your case, it's obvious what's going on."

Sam bit his lip harder at hearing the news.

"Me and my colleagues haven't seen anything like it," he said sadly. "There's something in your blood that's taking over all your healthy cells. At this point it's chronic, slow moving, but it's likely been at work for a while now."

Sam took it all in.

"What now?" He asked.

The doctor put his clipboard down.

"Well the consensus is that this isn't likely to be cured any time soon," he said. "But we can control it and manage any symptoms."

"How?" Sam asked.

"Chemo, possibly radiation," Ted said. "We can also take a wait and see approach, to hold off on all the side effects of the chemo."

Sam looked at his lap. He heard Ted sigh loudly.

"It's a lot to take in," he sympathized. "That's why you need to tell your family. I won't pretend to understand your reasons for not sharing this news right now, but having someone close to confide in will help you almost as much as any treatment I could provide."

Sam slowly nodded.

"I'll think about it."

The doctor walked over to Sam and put a hand on his shoulder.

"That's all I ask."


	5. Chapter Five: Reactions & Decisions

**Chapter 5: Reactions & Decisions**

Waiting for Dean and his dad to come back from their hunt was the hardest thing Sam had ever done. If he could pace, he would have already worn a hole in the floor. As it was, Bobby swore he could feel Sam's anxious energy throughout the house. He always reassured Sam that he had nothing to worry about, thinking that he was worried about his family. And while Sam was always worried about them, to a certain extent, Bobby was barking up the wrong tree this time.

His diagnosis was all he could think about. The words of the doctor kept replaying in his head, taunting him. He tried to distract himself by reading the demon book, but his heart just wasn't in it. He'd eventually turned his attention to an old medical book of Bobby's that was an encyclopedia of sorts.

It wasn't exactly the best choice of reading material. The description of cancer treatments and their side effects was especially eye opening. Then he read about the progression of cancer and the effects on the body. He'd had a hard time sleeping ever since.

So when Dean finally came home in the middle of the night, Sam was wide awake and ready to share the burden of his diagnosis.

Dean looked horrible. There were blood stains on his jeans and his shirt was torn in several places. He also had a black eye and lots of cuts bruises. He also had a slightly dazed look on his face. Sam could only hope his brother looked worse than he felt.

Their dad was in a similar state and disappeared upstairs without a word.

Dean sat on the couch across from Sam

"Are you okay Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean stared at him for a moment before responding.

"Why are you up?" Dean said sounding confused.

Sam sighed. It was now or never.

"I have something important to tell you."

Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Can this wait till morning?" He asked. "I have the world's worst headache."

Sam bit his lip. He couldn't wait. This was eating him up inside. And it wasn't like there was ever a good time to share this kind of news.

"I have cancer," he blurted out.

It felt like forever waiting for his brother's response. Sam anxiously clasped his hands together.

Dean finally shook his head then looked at Sam, scrutinizing his appearance.

"That can't be, that just .. Can't .. " Dean said in disbelief.

Sam only looked at Dean with a sad look on his face. It was what it was.

"You don't look sick," Dean said in a hopeful tone.

Sam shrugged.

"I don't feel any different," Sam said."The doctor says it's a slow moving cancer."

Dean leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He held his head in his hands as he thought over what Sam had said.

"I don't have to make any decisions about treatment yet. There's still time to think about it," Sam said.

Dean looked up sharply, then cringed.

Sam sighed. It couldn't be an easy managing a bad headache and such terrible news.

"What are you talking about?" He said sounding angry. "Of course you're getting treatment. You're not just giving up."

Sam raised his hands in surrender.

"I didn't mean it that way!" He said quickly. "It's just that the doctor said this type of cancer isn't exactly cured, more like it's managed."

Dean frowned.

"What does that mean?" He asked.

Sam sighed.

"It means managing the symptoms, keeping them at bay at long as possible."

"And then what?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. He hadn't thought that far ahead.

"We all die eventually right?" He said, trying to ad some levity to the moment.

Dean only stared at him in disbelief. It was the wrong thing to say. His brother became livid in seconds.

"Do you value your life so little?" Dean said, trying, but failing to keep his voice down."We can get a second opinion, find other doctors, other treatments."

Sam shook his head.

"But you won't be the one going through it all. The side effects aren't pretty. And what will dad think?" He asked. "I don't think our lifestyle fits in with a treatment schedule."

Dean looked at Sam as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I'm pretty sure he would prefer you alive, than the opposite."

Sam smirked.

"Sometimes I wonder."

Both boys were quiet for a few minutes.

Sam instantly regretted his words. He knew his dad loved him. But the fact that the man had only stuck around for few days after leaving Boise, before disappearing on another hunt was one of many disappointments he had dealt Sam. You could only say you loved someone so much, without backing up the thought with action.

"Don't talk about dad like that," Dean said with finality, looking at Sam with disapproval, "He does his best."

Sam rolled his eyes when Dean wasn't looking. That thought might be enough for Dean to get himself through the day. But it wasn't enough for Sam.

"How long have you known?" Dean asked. "About the cancer?"

"For sure?" Sam said. "The day you left to help dad."

Dean was frowning.

"That was the day you went to get your foot checked out," he said to himself. "Don't they have to test you first? And why would they if you don't have any symptoms?"

"The first time the doctor came by, I had him take a blood sample to test."

"Why would you do that?" Dean asked narrowing his eyes, looking at Sam with suspicion.

Sam looked down.

"A few days after we left Boise, a doctor there called and left a message on your phone."

Dean seemed to think for a moment.

"There was never any message from a doctor," he said looking at Sam for an explanation.

Sam swallowed. Dean wouldn't take this well.

"He called when you were out in the yard," Sam said. He took a deep breath, then continued. "I deleted the message after I listened to it."

Dean eyes grew dark.

"You deleted the message?!" He said angrily.

Sam refused to look his brother in the eye.

"I don't have to say how wrong it is for you to go through my phone like that," Dean said. "But what makes that worse is that means you've known about this for the past two weeks and you didn't say a word?"

Sam was quick to defend himself.

"I didn't want to say anything unless there was something to say."

Dean crossed his arms across his chest and glared at Sam.

"I still would've wanted to know," he said, "And I sure wouldn't have gone to dad if I'd known."

Sam shook his head.

"And leave dad out on a limb?" he said, "I don't think so."

Dean ignored Sam's words.

"You couldn't even call me when you found out?" He said.

"I didn't want to tell you over the phone," Sam said. "It's not exactly something you bring up on the phone.

He started speaking in a cheery tone.

"Oh hi Dean, how's the weather, oh by the way, I have cancer." he said, "Like that would've made a difference."

"Wouldn't make a difference?" Dean said standing up. "I should have been there when the doctor told you!"

"Keep your voice down!" Sam said forcefully, with a glare to match.

"No I won't," Dean said pacing. "Maybe I can wake Dad and Bobby..."

Sam stood up, his hand balled into fists.

"Does Bobby even know?" Dean asked turning around sharply. "Did you tell him before me?!"

"I'm the one who's sick," Sam said pointedly. "It's my choice to tell and mine alone."

Dean looked like he was seconds away from punching something.

Sam sighed and shook his head.

"No, I didn't tell him," Sam said sharply. "Happy?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Thrilled."

Sam sat back down. Balancing with his weight on only one foot was tiring. He watched Dean slowly pace back and forth.

"I can't believe you," Dean said, coming to a stop across from Sam. Anger and disappointed were both directed at Sam with those words. "You're more than happy to tell us about your 'outstanding' grades and go on and on about the latest "interesting" thing you learned," he waved his hands around to emphasize the words, "But when it comes down to the really important things, you keep it to yourself."

Sam knew Dean had a right to be angry, but did he have to push it so far? His brother's words hurt more than the doctor's diagnosis ever could.

"You can be so selfish sometimes Sammy," Dean said with distaste. "I can't even..."

Sam could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

"What Dean? You can even what?!" He said, the tears finally falling down his face.

Dean turned and started walking toward the stairs.

"I'll deal with you in the morning."

Sam wanted to scream at his brother about the unfairness of it all. He was the one who was sick for god's sake! Now he felt even more alone than he had on that day when he had learned he was sick. He could only hope Dean would get over this soon. He couldn't stand it when his brother was angry at him. And especially over something like this? It was life and death. This wasn't the time to be alienating anyone. Yet he had done just that by not telling his brother about something so important.

Sam wept bitterly as he sat alone on the couch, unable to fall asleep.

* * *

Sam woke to something hitting him in the face.

"Wakey wakey Sammy."

It was Dean.

Sam frowned in confusion as he opened his eyes. He was leaning on his side, having eventually fallen asleep while sitting up.

"Dude," Dean said sounding confused as he looked closer at Sam's face. "Have you been crying?"

Sam glared at Dean who was standing over him, with a pillow in his hands.

"Whoa man," Dean said. "Just wanted to let you know lunch awaits. You slept through breakfast, but this is just being lazy."

"Huh?" Sam said feeling more than a little annoyed. Dean was acting like last night hadn't happened at all. "Last night you were all-"

Dean put the pillow back on the couch.

"Dad told me I have a bad concussion," he explained. "He said I went off about all sorts of nonsense on the ride back here."

Sam stared at Dean in disbelief.

Dean only looked sheepish.

"Did I say something-"

"You honestly don't remember?" Sam said cutting him off angrily. "All those things you said... you're saying you just forgot it all?!"

Dean took a step back.

"What did I say?" He said sounding like he really meant it.

Sam almost wanted to break down right there, but he somehow managed to stay strong and keep himself together.

"Just forget it," He said refusing to look at his brother.

"No Sam," Dean said stepping closer, "What did I say? It obviously was important if you're acting like this."

Sam barely restrained himself.

"I said forget it!" He snapped.

Dean raised his hands in surrender and walked away, but not before giving one last sad look at his brother.

Sam didn't notice. He was too busy glaring at nothing in particular.

There was no way in hell he was telling his brother about his cancer now. He wasn't about to go through that abuse ever again. Dying alone in this knowledge was better than dying knowing his brother was angry and disappointed in him.

As hard as it would be, he vowed to take this secret to the grave.


	6. Chapter Six: Visitation

**Chapter Six: Visitation**

Sam was sitting alone on the couch. His backpack sat next to him. In his lap, he held Bobby's demon book. With a sigh, he lifted it and set it on the coffee table. They were leaving today. Dean and their dad were busy getting everything loaded up in the Impala. Sam wasn't exactly fit for carrying anything to and from the car, so he sat inside savoring the minutes he had left in this home away from home.

Bobby was in the kitchen getting together some snacks for them to bring along. Sam figured he just wanted to keep himself busy. Last night Sam had overheard Bobby and his dad having a heated argument in the hallway. Bobby had argued vehemently to have them stay for Thanksgiving, but John didn't budge. And when he himself tried to get some sense into his dad, he was silenced with a look that sent his blood boiling. He had a voice and an opinion. He didn't like being ignored and he wasn't about to let his dad forget about how pigheaded he was being right now.

After all, what did he have to lose?

He was dying. Now whether that actually happened, well that was another story. But when you were staring death down, other things didn't seem nearly as earth shattering.

Bobby walked out of the kitchen carrying a large bag.

"This should tide you over till dinner," he said, looking down at Sam with a sad look in his eyes.

Sam sighed.

"I wish we weren't leaving so soon," said morosely.

Bobby shrugged.

The impala's horn intruded on the moment.

Sam winced.

"Better get going," Bobby said. "Before he blows another gasket."

Sam stood up and put his backpack on. Then he grabbed his crutches and headed for the door.

Bobby went ahead and opened the door.

Sam paused and took one last look around.

The horn sounded again.

"You'll be back before you know it," Bobby said.

Sam looked at his surrogate uncle with a wistful look.

"Perhaps," he said halfheartedly.

It was Bobby's turn to sigh.

"Just a moment."

Bobby disappeared into the living room and came back carrying a book.

"I expect to get this back the next time I see you," he said.

It was the demonology book. Bobby stuffed it into Sam's backpack then took a step back, a satisfied look on his face.

"See? Now you have to come back."

Sam smiled then wrapped his arms around the older man. Bobby wasn't exactly the hugging type, but he did have his moments.

"Thanks Bobby," Sam said sincerely.

"Now get out of here," Bobby said trying, and failing, to sound gruff.

Once he was in the impala, Sam swore all the warmth in the air evaporated.

Dean was in the front seat looking anywhere but at him. His father was stonily looking straight ahead. Sam barely closed the door before they were peeling out of Bobby's junkyard.

"Staying a few more days wouldn't have hurt," Sam said, breaking the tense silence.

John look at him in the rear view mirror. His eyes were hard and unforgiving.

"People are dying," he said, "You really would let more dye just so you can eat some turkey?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"People die everyday. We spend so much time saving others, what about us?" He asked, his voice filled with righteous anger.

"We know what's out there, they don't" John said gruffly.

"Since when does that make it our responsibility to save them?" Sam could see the anger growing in his father's eyes.

"It's not about you Sam," John said, his voice hard like steel.

Sam was quick to hit back.

"That's true," he said. "It's always about You."

John suddenly pulled to the side of the road and slammed on the breaks. But before he could tear into Sam, Dean jumped to life.

"Give it a rest!" He yelled, turning around so he could look both Sam and John in the eye. "Sam, you shut up. Dad, you drive."

After a few tense moments, John grudgingly turned back to the road.

"This isn't over Sam," He muttered under his breath.

"It never is," Sam replied defiantly.

His dad answered by turning up the radio.

It was all very typical of his family.

There was no getting through to his father. Once he had something in his head, that was the law, and there was no deviating from it.

Oh, so it was time to leave? Just days before Thanksgiving? No problem.

Class at his third new school of the school year? Gee, when can I begin?

No friends or girlfriends? Who needs that?

Sick with a deadly illness? I'll just walk it off.

Sam sighed.

The last one wasn't exactly a fair assessment since the others had no clue about his cancer, but he imagined that's how his father would see it. With a future so bleak, he had to wonder just what he was living for.

* * *

The sun traveled across the sky as they drove on. The scenery was bland at best. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen over the many years they had spent crisscrossing the country. Sam had no clue where they were going. Dad wasn't talking and neither was Dean. Both had yet to say a word since their blowup earlier in the day. When they had stopped for gas, they ignored him and took care of their own needs, leaving Sam to awkwardly make his way to the bathroom with his crutches.

Two could play this game. Sam kept the bag of snacks from Bobby to himself, forcing his dad and brother to get food at the gas station. It was petty and Sam figured they could just take the food from him if they really wanted to. But it still gave him a measure of satisfaction.

Outside, the sun was starting to set. They were now in another state, but Sam hadn't bothered trying to figure out which one. He could only guess when they would get to wherever it was they were going.

The more he stared out the window, the heavier he could feel his eyes get.

"Sammy."

His head snapped up. It was a woman's voice. He looked around the car and was shocked to see a blonde haired woman sitting next to him in the back seat. More than that, she was familiar to him.

"Mom?" He asked in shock.

The woman smiled. She was wearing a white night gown.

"It's me honey, it really is."

Sam sat there with his mouth open. She was beautiful with her long blonde wavy hair, bright eyes, and welcoming gaze. He could definitely see where Dean got his looks from

He glanced at the other passengers in the impala. John was looking at road, oblivious to their extra passenger. Dean was leaning against the window, sleeping.

"They can't see me," his mom said. "I'm only here for you."

That sounded slightly ominous, considering she was dead and he was dying.

She smiled, seemingly able to read his mind.

"Not in that way," she said with a soft laugh. "It's not your time yet."

"I must be dreaming," Sam said looking around the car.

Mary shrugged.

"Doesn't make this any less real."

Sam had to agree. But he supposed it wasn't hard for his mind to recreate a place he had practically grown up in.

"I didn't want this for you," Mary said.

Sam looked at her with a sad look on his face.

"I always figured as much," he said.

The way his dad always seem to blow up when he brought her up, told Sam all he needed to know.

"He doesn't like to talk about you," Sam said, glancing at his father. "He always gets mad when I bring you up. And Dean... well he's said a little, but not a lot... and especially not lately"

Mary looked sad, but not altogether surprised.

"Grief does things to people," she said with a sigh. Then she reached over and grabbed his hand in hers. "You're not alone Sam. However you may feel, I'm always here."

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed her's back. Then he blinked and she was gone. Sam glanced around confused. John was no longer driving. In fact he wasn't even in the car. Dean was at the wheel. His brother glanced in the mirror.

"Finally awake," he said with an edge to his voice. "Still looking for a fight?"

Annoyance filled him once again, but he pushed those feelings down, and ignored Dean. He looked ahead at the road. Sure enough, their dad was leading the way in his truck. Sam felt like an idiot. How could he have completely forgotten about his dad's truck? Sam suddenly remembered how Dean had mentioned he had driven with dad on the way back from helping with his hunt. They must have left the truck behind after Dean got his concussion. There was no way they would have left behind the impala when faced with a choice like that.

With no end to this drive in sight, Sam leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. His thoughts turned back to his mother as he watched the final light of day fade into darkness.


End file.
